The Iron Thorn | Theon Greyjoy

43.

Massey

I struggled to pull myself from bed the next morning as Theon readied himself in his new fashion. I watched intently as I, too, dressed myself. He looked so different, dressed so different, as though he had never been influenced by the north at all. His clothing was made for someone at sea. Light and armored. Maybe the proud furs he wore around Winterfell were just a disguise for whatever was lying dormant in him. Or maybe whatever he was dressed as now was the falsity. I didn't know anymore. Still, my necklace was dangling from the belt at his waist, mirroring his chain on my own gown as some sort of reminder to the truth of who we were together.

As though he hadn't held me tenderly all night as we slept in our shared bed, we stood several feet apart like strangers would until I gained the courage to seek out some answers.

"Your father told you to do this? To take Winterfell?"

He met my eyes sharply for a moment before dropping his own to the floor, as if ashamed of some harsh thing he had thought in his head that he had stopped before it spilled out of his mouth.

"He gave me a ship," he muttered as he shook his head.

"A ship? What do you want me to say to that, Theon?" I asked in an incredulous whisper, shaking my head in confusion. "Congratulations? Smooth seas—"

"A ship," he snapped. "One ship. I'm the heir of the bloody Iron Islands, his only son, and he gave me one ship. He thinks me a fool, a weakling. Some obedient dog for the northerners. He thinks my loyalties lie with the Starks."

I took a few steps closer to him, studying his eyes for any indication of remorse. I found nothing, not even a glimmer. I couldn't help the disappointed frown that grew on my face. It felt like I'd lost the man I once knew entirely.

"Did they not?"

His demeanor hardened even more as he blinked away my words.

"It is easy for you to say, for you to pass judgment."

"It is easy for me to say?" I shot back immediately, my eyes narrow and my brow furrowed.

"Yes. Easy. You have no idea what it is to be spread so thin between two families until you know not what is left of yourself underneath it all. As if the Starks weren't my captors—"

"As if I am not spread between three at this very moment! Nothing since I've arrived at Winterfell has been easy for me, Theon. Nothing," I said, a sharp breath escaping me. It was almost a scoff, but I found nothing about what he was saying to be amusing.

   "My father was killed, my brother is just...gone as if he evaporated into thin air. Broden could very well be dead somewhere, and I would not know a thing. I've come to terms with the fact that he probably is. Gareth beckons me home to await whatever fate he sees fit for a traitorous whore," I spat bitterly before continuing. Theon was clearly uncomfortable, his hands flexing at his sides when I spoke of Gareth's opinion of me, but I didn't stop. "I wronged Robb, I know that. I've made a promise to his mother to care for her family, and I'm failing even at that. I have sat here in these halls day after day for months, awaiting your return so that we may take our place on Pyke and leave even Winterfell behind. Now, in the midst of fighting a war for a man that you call your brother, your loyalties shift without explanation, and I'm supposed to just follow along blindly? It sounds to me that you may think me an obedient dog."

He stood with his chest puffed as he took in what I was saying.

"Bryer. Stark. Greyjoy. Do not tell me that I don't know what it is to be spread thin, Theon, because you are wrong."